Callums changed showed on his hand.
The boy who once stumbled through his first classes now wore a band of black essence on his finger. He didn’t meet River’s rapid rise with jealousy, but with determination, training until his body shook.
Their bond depended over smuggled pages and midnight arguments. Competition hone him; his questions cutting deeper by the day.
River heard it in the conviction of his voice: he would not be left behind.
And Amalia... Amalia was different. There was something about her River couldn’t quite name. Calm followed her into rooms. Now elevated to Tier One Mage, a promotion she’d almost forgotten to mention. Her motivation ran on a different current than Callum’s: not driven by comparison or competition, but by a quiet curiosity and the joy of discovery.
For the first time, everything seemed to be going well. Together, they grew stronger—sharing meals, stolen moments, and study sessions that quietly stitched them closer. But with every passing day, he felt the gap between himself and the rest of the school widen. He had become the fastest student to rise from the ranks of the untiered mages—a fact that earned him more suspicion than admiration. Students still snickered behind cupped hands when he passed, some staring at his eyes, others muttering about favoritism or unnatural talent.
He tried to ignore them, but the whispers cut deeper than he cared to admit.
The one place he had hoped would understand him now felt no different from the world he thought he’d left behind.
Lud would’ve known what to say. Would’ve helped him laugh it off, twist it into something clever or bold. But without him, River just felt out of place—like he was wearing someone else’s robes, pretending to be someone who belonged. He had learned the basics of runes — how to channel, shape, and seal essence into physical patterns. But the truth was, he didn’t have a knack for it. Every time he would attempt it the runes seemed to slip through his fingers, like water through a sieve. Runes required the hand of a craftsman—precise, steady, deliberate.
Any flaw in their construction rendered them useless—like trying to wear shoes on your hands. Maybe it had something to do with River’s upbringing. He’d never had much use for elegant writing. He only learned to read and write thanks to an outreach program run by Lady Luck’s church in Norvil. River was more of a sledgehammer. He could brute-force essence into motion, but shaping it into something refined? That was another matter entirely.
Essence control, on the other hand, came almost frighteningly easy. His connection to it was instinctive—natural in a way he couldn’t explain.
He often wondered how others struggled with it… the same way he supposed they wondered, how he could struggle so much with runes.
River could now feel the threads of essence all around him — pulsing in the stones beneath his feet, whispering through the air. He no longer needed his eyes to see. The world spoke to him through its essence, and its voice grew clearer with every step he took to strengthen his soul. Though the new class had brought him valuable insight into the world of magic, not all the students had welcomed him with open arms.
Most of his classmates had gradually warmed to him—except for Malcolm. The boy still regarded him with thinly veiled contempt, walking away in silence whenever River tried to speak to him. Maybe his noble upbringing had cemented his views on those he considered beneath him.
But thankfully, Kidrin had been different—open-minded, sharp, and willing to treat River as an equal. She offered a steady hand in a classroom where he might otherwise have been left floundering in the dark. A quiet rivalry had ignited between them—an unspoken challenge that burned hotter with every lesson. Whenever she mastered something new, River felt compelled to match her, to push himself harder.
But deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the rivalry lived only in his mind—
that to her, he was just a toddler chasing after a parent.
A way she could make his mind ease, even when everything around him was spinning out of control. She laughed easily, teased fearlessly, and faced every challenge head-on without hesitation.
She scared him sometimes but only in the best way possible.
On this day, River had just finished class.
They had been working on creation magic—molding earth to obey, weaving illusions from light, and healing wounds with nature essence.
Molding and healing came naturally to River, flowing from him as easily as breathing.
But illusion magic... Illusions were another matter entirely. Illusions don’t yield to force alone. In fact, the opposite was true—the harder you tried to force it, the more likely the construct was to shatter.
Illusion required finesse, subtlety, patience.
Three things River had never been particularly good at.
His repeated failures had left his body drained, the familiar cold of essence expenditure settling deep into his bones. Still mulling over the lesson, he made his way back toward the dorms. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the narrow windows near Alerus’s office.
Up ahead, he spotted Albert waiting by the stairwell, waving a meaty arm the moment he saw River. As River approached, Albert raised his forearm with exaggerated pride—and there it was: the familiar black band wrapped around his finger.
River’s grin widened. The transformation in Albert was nothing short of incredible. The boy who had once seemed more noble softness than steel now looked… solid.
He wasn’t shredded like Lud’s brother, but it wasn’t about muscle—it was presence.
He stood straighter, a quiet determination burning in his eyes.
He looked more like a knight preparing for battle than the hesitant boy River had first met. And River felt genuinely happy for him.
He knew Albert had celebrated his rapid rise, but a part of him had likely felt left behind.
Now, they were all Tier One mages—a milestone that had once seemed monumental, but now seemed like just another step on the road toward something greater.
A brief pause in the journey… one that offered no answers, only more questions.
River walked over and clapped him hard on the shoulder.
"About time!" River said, grinning. "Knew you had it in you." Albert laughed, the sound deep and booming.
They stood there for a moment, side by side, sharing a rare feeling that was still new to River: pride. The two walked together, jovial and upbeat, laughter echoing faintly down the stone corridor. River knew he had about an hour before dinner would be served, but he had no intention of going. Sitting there every day, watching everyone else eat, had been fine for a while.
Now... it just felt pointless.
There was still so much more he needed to learn.
He couldn’t afford to waste the time. He picked up his books from the dorm and headed toward the library. His heightened senses and his ability to hear essence around had made everything clearer. And that gaze... It was still there. More vivid now than ever. He felt it, a brush against the edge of his awareness. Subtle. Careful. But unmistakable. River glanced around casually. The shimmer in the air shifted, the light bending oddly against the walls. Illusion magic. His pulse quickened, heart pounding against his ribs.
Now wasn’t the time. Too many students filled the corridor. Too many witnesses.
His mind raced through the possibilities:
- Vlad — the student who had bullied Albert?
- The creature — somehow returned?
- A professor — watching him quietly?
He didn’t know.
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But soon...
He would.
Reaching the familiar door to the library, River slid his card into the slot.
The door swung open with a soft hum, and he stepped inside, letting it close quickly behind him. No time to linger. He moved swiftly down the aisles, weaving between towering shelves until he reached the small study room he'd come to think of as his own. It was quieter here. But he still wasn’t ready to unleash. River sat down, pretending to read a heavy book titled The History of the Seven Great Houses. He turned a page absently, his consciousness stretching outward, brushing against the ambient essence in the room.
He scanned the library carefully—sensing, feeling.
As his mind reached out, he felt it: the familiar warmth of channeled essence, tethered to someone else. He stilled. Any careless movement now would give him away. River’s heart pounded louder with every breath as he weighed his options. Suddenly, a sharp sting pricked his thumb. He flinched and looked down.
A second band of essence had formed, wrapping itself neatly around his finger. River blinked. That... shouldn't have been possible. But there it was—clear as day. A Tier Two band.
And as far as he knew, only Alerus could grant those. Another mystery. One he didn’t have time to unravel—not yet. Grimacing, River pushed the thought aside and sharpened his focus now on if other students were still in the library. The library was slowly emptying, students filtering out in ones and twos. Every passing moment thinned the crowd... and brought the confrontation closer. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. Whatever was coming, he would need to face it head-on. As River heard the familiar click of the library doors locking behind the last student, he hardened his mind, steadying himself. Essence gathered around his hand, swirling unseen beneath the table, hidden from view. He waited, patient as a coiled spring. Then in a single breath. He seized the moment.
He channeled earth first, willing it to rise and ensnare whatever lurked nearby. Water flowed through it as well, making the stone a more malleable mud arm. Fast and easy to bend to his will. Four beafy arms of mud burst from the floor, lunging forward and clamping around something unseen. There was a sharp huff. The sound of air being punched from someone's lungs. Without hesitating, River reached deeper, this time drawing on light. Not for illusion. He poured raw, burning essence into it, overwhelming the fragile web of magic cloaking his attacker. The illusion shattered with a snap of blinding radiance. There, trapped within the dark muddy arms, stood an old man, frail, bent, and unimposing. His eyes were cloudy white. If River hadn’t seen him walking and breathing, he would have assumed the man was blind. River hesitated, frozen with confusion. The old man coughed harshly, the pressure from the stone grips squeezing the air from his lungs. River frowned and loosened the hold slightly, the stone arms relaxing but not releasing him. The man bowed his head, his voice barely louder than a whisper, yet somehow it carried across the silent library:
"My lord... it’s an honor to finally meet you." River blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of the words. My lord? That couldn’t be right. "I’m no lord," River said cautiously, almost brushing the statement aside. "I think you’re looking for someone else." The old man shook his head slowly, his frail frame trembling with the motion. "No," he said, his voice growing stronger. "You are the young Primordial. The first to awaken in almost a century. We have been waiting for you. Preparing." River’s pulse quickened, his skin prickling with something between dread and awe. “Who are you and what have you been preparing for?” he said, maybe a bit more angrily than he had expected.” He had so many questions. Would he finally get some answers? The old man lifted his head slightly, his milky eyes seeming to pierce straight through River. "I am but a servant," he said quietly. "One of many who have kept the old oaths. We call ourselves the Wardens of the Weave — sworn to safeguard the blood of the Primordials... should it ever stir again. We were not meant to act until the right time. Until you showed your face to the world."
River tightened his jaw, still wary. "What were you preparing for?"
The old man’s gaze turned distant, as if seeing something far beyond the library walls. "There is a place," he whispered, "far to the south, beyond the mountains, deep within the Wastelands. There, you will either be shackled... or ascend."
"You will be tested. You will either emerge a hero—or die, unknown to the world."
He paused, his breath rattling in his chest. "It holds knowledge that few remember... and none dare speak of," the old man continued, his voice dropping even lower. "It holds power. Power enough to change everything." "The wards grow weaker with each year the Primordials remain absent. A Primordial must soon reclaim the throne... or chaos will grip the heart of the kingdom once again." Finally, he met River’s gaze directly, a terrible, fragile hope shining in his ruined eyes. “The others feel it too,” he said. “They are waiting for your return.” The words struck like waves. The more the old man spoke, the more lost River felt. His knees buckled. Vision swimming, he reached for the desk and sank into the chair, gripping its edge like it might anchor him to reality.
Reclaim a throne? Or watch evil spread across the kingdom? It didn’t feel real. Irony really was a fickle bitch. He’d come here for peace and quiet—just a moment to think. Instead, he got prophecies and fairy tales from another land. The frail man spoke again, his voice almost indistinguishable from silence.
"I was merely here to confirm your identity, my lord. When you are ready, we will come for you."
He placed a small disk onto the desk.
"Channel your essence—every affinity—and it will summon us. It will tell us you are ready to return to your rightful place." River barely glanced at it.
Everything that had just happened felt strange—unreal. The world around him faded, and the man’s words echoed distantly in his ears. Like fragments of a dream… and yet, something in them rang true.
He nodded numbly, hands braced against the desk as his eyes fell to the disk.
Dark grey. Smooth, but not cold. It didn’t feel like metal—at least not any kind he knew. Essence clung to it, faint but pulsing, like it was alive. If River had to guess, it wasn’t just enchanted. It was watching. Or waiting. A communication beacon, maybe. Or a signal. Whatever it was… he didn’t like it. He blinked.
And before he knew it the world had changed. The library was full again. Students moved through the aisles, whispering, flipping pages, laughing softly. Like nothing had happened. Like the old man had never been there. River shook his head. When had they returned?
He tucked the disk into his robes alongside his books and forced himself to walk back to his room. The corridors were unusually quiet. And the eerie presence that had haunted him for weeks? Gone. River had hoped for nothing more than quiet for the rest of the night. But that wasn’t going to happen.
As he rounded the final corner, he saw him—Vlad, standing outside his door. River sighed. Not now. Their eyes met. A flicker of earth essence sparked in Vlad’s hand. Reflex took over. River reached out and severed the connection, yanking control from Vlad like pulling a thread from loose cloth. Vlad’s connection, which once had felt like firm command, now unraveled into a whisper. The earth responded to River instead. It slammed upward, trapping Vlad’s feet, then climbing—legs, torso, chest—until only his arms and head remained free. Vlad screamed, thrashing, but River barely registered it. He advanced with deliberate steps, fury coiled in every movement. River leaned down, voice low and cold.
“Don’t you ever fucking dare touch me or my friends again.”
He spat near Vlad’s trapped feet and walked away. Doors creaked open down the hall. Students stared, wide-eyed, whispering. River didn’t care. He walked into his room and let the essence fall away.
Behind him, a dull thud echoed as Vlad collapsed to the floor. It tasted dirty—like he’d sunk to Vlad’s level. If power had a price, River was afraid he was already paying it.
And the worst part? He hadn’t chosen it. His instincts had done it for him, without hesitation. Just a little pressure, and something inside him had snapped. Something he didn’t know was there.
What else was he capable of?
River closed the door with a soft, final click. He pushed his essence outward, scanning the corridor. People had seen him. Dammit.
But in the corner of his awareness, something else stirred—familiar, yet... wrong.
Its essence pulsed faintly. Curious.
And hungry.